


Run Like Hell

by Safiyabat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean in Hell, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hurt Dean Winchester, Mark of Cain, Past Torture, Smart Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 12:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1428814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safiyabat/pseuds/Safiyabat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being injured on a hunt Dean is brought face-to-face with the long-term consequences of his actions in Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run Like Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SweetSamOfMine (AudreeJo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AudreeJo/gifts).



> This is in response to the tumblr prompt specifically requesting Dean have the results of his past actions brought to his attention. You can find the original prompt here:
> 
> sweettsamofmine.tumblr.com/post/81442912143/deans-demons-fic-prompts
> 
> Supernatural and the characters from the show are not my property. I make no money from this or any other work of fan fiction.

“Shit shit shit!” Dean yelled. There was no way that they were going to be able to make it back to the Impala now. Three blocks had never stretched so far. He collapsed to the ground clutching at his leg. “We did not need this now, Sam,” he grunted. 

His little brother didn’t even stop short, just dropped beside him in a fluid motion that would have been the envy of ballet dancers everywhere if they allowed ballet dancers to be the size of small planets. His hands ran over Dean’s leg. “Not broken,” he commented. It wasn’t like Sam spared words these days, not for Dean and who the hell else did he have to talk to? “Sprained, probably.” He slid an arm up under Dean’s shoulders and hauled him to his feet without warning, not letting him put any weight on the injured leg. 

“That’s not much better, Sam. I’m still going to be out of commission for a few weeks,” the elder groused. 

“I’ve got some stuff in the bag, you’ll be fine in a week.” He started hauling Dean over toward a darkened brick townhouse. The trim around the windows and doors showed signs of decay and more than a few windows had been boarded over: abandoned, then. Well that would help get them out of the path of the revenants, anyway. At least Sam would be able to bring the car to him – he’d be willing to do that much for him, right?

Dean stood watch while Sam picked the lock. They both made their way toward an interior room before checking to see if there was any electricity. Fortunately the power had been left on for reasons that seemed kind of unfathomable; it worked out in the Winchesters’ favor tonight. Dean hoisted himself up onto the kitchen counter while Sam locked the door behind them. He returned in seconds. “Let’s see the knee,” he demanded, gesturing that Dean should roll his jeans up.

“Screw you. I ain’t putting on a show for you, buddy.” 

He gave an epic bitch-face. “You want to be able to fight again in a week? Then roll up your jeans. Or drop ‘em, I don’t much care.” Sam had already gone into his bag and pulled out a canister of what looked like some kind of black wax. The smell could probably have woken the dead. Or possibly killed the living. 

“What the hell is that?” 

“It’s a salve. You gonna cooperate or you gonna suffer?”

“And you use this stuff on yourself?” Prissy, cleanliness-obsessed Sam seriously smeared this crap onto his body? On purpose? 

“Yes. I have been for years.”

“Why haven’t I heard about it before?” 

“You had Cas.” He shrugged. “Look, it’s not instantaneous and it’s not good for everything. It’s not an angel, it’s just a salve. It will help you heal quicker, that’s all. You want it or not?” 

Dean hesitated. Sam was not a doctor. He was also not a physical therapist and hadn’t paid more than token attention to a damn thing Dad had taught them, to include field medicine. At the same time even Dean couldn’t argue that the kid’s stitches were neater and tighter than any ER could provide, even on himself, and that the kid knew his way around an autopsy. “Fine, do what you have to.” 

“I’m going to have to do this every day for it to have full effect but you should get some relief right away,” Sam informed him as Dean rolled up the denim on the affected leg. Hazel eyes narrowed as the giant crouched down and prodded at the affected knee. “Looks like a bad sprain,” he commented. “It’s already pretty swollen.” He took a small amount of the foul-smelling goo onto his fingers and began massaging it into Dean’s knee. 

“Ow – Sam, watch it there, would you?” he yelled, wincing. 

“Quit your bellyaching,” his tormentor grunted, continuing with his ministrations. After the initial shock of pain Dean had to admit that it felt pretty good – although whether that was because he’d been so twisted from his forty years downstairs that his pleasure sensors were a little wonky or because Sam was actually pretty good at this stuff was anyone’s guess. His girls always looked satisfied so it was probably at least a combination of the two. To be fair, though, his girls did have a tendency to be monsters so maybe they weren’t the best yardstick. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the massage. “Hey Sam, where’d you find this stuff anyway?”

“Made it.”

“Okay, but where’d you learn about it? I didn’t see it in Dad’s journal.”

“Ruby.” 

Dean sprang back. “You’re using demon magic on me? Seriously?”

Once Sam would have given him a guilty sad look, maybe apologized. “You went out and took on the damn Mark of Cain, Dean. On what planet does that seriously give you any moral high ground here? And it’s not exactly like this stuff is made from blood sacrifices or anything. It’s herbs, a little charred yew, a couple of other things that are in no way shape or form related to anything demonic. It’s just medicine. I mean, you still carry the hex bag I made you from her lessons, right?”

He glowered. “You still should’ve told me, Sam.”

“Right.” The canister disappeared back into Sam’s bag. “Just trying to help.”

“I don’t need that kind of help. Now I want a shower.” He glared again. How could Sam even remotely think it would be okay to use anything related to Ruby on him? On himself? He scratched at the Mark. “Boy you haven’t learned anything at all, have you?”

“Now there’s a voice that takes me back.” 

Both hunters jumped at the unexpected voice, guns at the ready. The house had been empty, Dean would have sworn it on his father’s grave, but now a woman stood before them in a red dress and combat boots. She was pretty in a muscular kind of way, and her eyes were black.

All the way black. 

Crap.

Sam, of course, wasn’t fazed. A stream of Latin was already pouring from his mouth like there was no tomorrow but it didn’t stop the intruder. She just gestured and he was silenced – silenced and paralyzed, from the looks of it. 

Dean’s hand clenched around the handle of Ruby’s knife. He pulled it out and lunged at the demon. Well, he tried to attack the demon anyway, but his bad leg had other plans and collapsed under him. Funny how Sam could give him an epic bitch face even without being able to move his head. “Now listen,” their assailant told them, strutting before them. “I’m not really here to fight but I will if I have to. It’s pretty clear that I’ve got the advantage here.” She picked Dean up – divesting him of the knife – and set him back on the counter. “You’re not in any position to be fighting, Dean. And it looks like I have Lucifer’s traitorous vessel pretty well contained. I’d like to make a deal with you, Dean.” Black eyes bored into his.

“I don’t make deals with demons, sweetheart,” he informed her, shaking his head.

“Oh, come on, Dean. We both know that’s not true. Anyway, I’m just so excited to see you again that I’m going to offer you a deal. Just for tonight. It’s going to work like this. You won’t try to stab me or fight me or do anything to harm me. We’ll just sit here and chat. In return, I won’t tell Abaddon that you or your brother were ever here. Do we have an agreement?” 

Dean considered. On the one hand the Mark branded into his forearm cried out for this monster’s blood and he craved it, wanted to see it painting the floor. On the other hand he knew that he’d be hard pressed to fight the kind of demon that could just hold Sam there with a thought. “Fine. Deal,” he spat. 

“We still have to seal the deal, Dean,” she reminded him with a smirk, stepping right into his personal space and putting her arms around his neck. She slotted her body between his legs and touched her lips to his, forcing her tongue into his mouth. He’d be lying if he didn’t say that it didn’t feel good, that he wasn’t giving back just as good as he got.

The flavor of sulfur should have been a turnoff. It wasn’t. He felt himself hardening as she ran her hands over his chest like she knew its contours. “Just like old times, Dean,” she commented, pulling back. 

He frowned. “You keep saying things like that.”

“Oh right. I’m wearing a boxer. Sorry. You’ve been gone for so long. My name is Alicia. I’m one of yours.” She smiled and trailed a finger slowly down his forehead and nose before letting it linger on his lips.

“One of mine?” he blinked, trying to ignore the finger. “What the Hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, Dean, I can’t believe you didn’t know. We had so much fun together. Alistair said you’d been studying under him for about a year when he gave me to you.” She moved her hand to gently caress his face. “You took that blade and you started to carve into me, Dean. You were incredible. You made the tiniest little cuts but you made them count. Oh sweet Lucifer, you made them count. And you smiled. It was the most amazing smile. I thought it was pretty vile at the time, of course – at first. I think it was all of a week before I realized it was the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen.” 

Dean’s stomach lurched. “Alicia,” he whispered. He risked a quick glance at Sam. Sam was looking at him of course – how could he not, he was sitting there listening to a demon talk about how his brother had tortured her in Hell – but he was also starting to sweat. Dean couldn’t make himself meet Sam’s eyes. “I remember you. You were the first –“

“I was hardly the first soul you took a blade to, Dean,” she corrected, a little smile playing across the borrowed lips.

“No. You were the first where Alistair didn’t have to make me. The first one where I liked it.” He turned his head away. “I am so, so sorry, Alicia. I didn’t – it was Hell. They gave me a choice. Get off the rack and pick up a blade or stay on the rack for Alistair. After thirty years as Alistair’s pet project I gave in. I broke. I didn’t want this to happen to you.” 

She laughed out loud. “Dean, what are you apologizing for? You freed me!”

He froze. “What?” 

“Oh yeah. I don’t remember much of my earthly life but I remember that it sucked. I remember that I sold my soul because I was completely powerless and I wanted to have some control over my own life – I don’t remember why and that’s probably okay, if Hell seemed like a better alternative, you know? And after you started in on me – well, after that first week let’s face it, I just accepted it. All the pain, all the hate, all the degradation. It’s not like there was anyplace else for me to go, right? 

“And then I learned to like it, Dean. I learned to love it. I learned to not feel anything, to not remember anything. And I embraced it. That’s when Alistair told me I was ready. He took me off that rack and I started to change. He gave me a night with you first, though. Do you remember it?” 

He nodded. His hands shook, the effect of too many stimuli and too much restraint. Part of him wanted to kill – kill her, maybe take Sam out too just for being here because it was really all about the bloodlust these days thanks to Cain’s little gift. Part of him wanted to take Alicia up on what she was so clearly offering, because really what should be holding him back anymore? He was poison, he’d gotten Kevin killed, he’d become Crowley’s freaking valet. What was one more sin to rack up? Part of him wanted to run out of here and empty his stomach into the streets revenants or no revenants, because if Alicia was saying what he thought she was saying – “Wait, are you trying to tell me that I… I’m the one who made you into a demon?” 

“Alistair told me he’d never seen someone turn a soul with more efficiency,” she pointed out. “I started learning to use my powers right away – I started torturing souls too. I didn’t have your talent, of course, and I probably didn’t have quite the same level of sadism. But at least I have my demonic abilities to help out.” She turned to Sam and made a complicated gesture. Sam’s eyes bulged out of his head and he started making strangled sounds. “At least my clothes stay clean. If I want them to.” 

“Hey. Hey!” He grabbed her arm gently, mindful of the need to keep her mood generous and light. “Nice work. Really, I’m impressed. But you don’t need to go messing with Sam to impress me.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. There’s nothing you can do to the kid that hasn’t already been done, you know? You might get a few squeals out of him but that’s about it. He’s not exactly a good squeaky chew toy. Damaged goods. I mean, you know he was in the Cage, right?” Why he felt compelled to intervene he didn’t know. It wasn’t like the kid would be grateful or anything. 

She shrugged, but stopped her torment. “I heard rumors. He didn’t turn, though, so I figured they were just that – rumors. Everyone breaks, Dean. Even you were well on your way, and you’re the Righteous Man.” She spared Sam a glance. “Of course, I guess the rules are different for something like him.” 

Dean considered. “It’s been said before.” He couldn’t meet Sam’s eyes. He didn’t want to either. 

She grinned. “I’m sure.” She shook her head. “Do you remember that day when the angels came to steal you away from us?”

“Not really.” 

“Honestly?”

“I remember being at my rack,” he admitted. “There was a new soul on it – a real scumbag, genocidal dictator type – and then I heard this horrible high-pitched noise. Next thing I knew I woke up in a pine box, six feet underground. I had the clothes I’d been buried in and a lighter. That’s it.” To this day Dean had a terror of enclosed spaces. Being buried alive had that effect on people. “Why?” 

“It was terrible. And these angels, they could see all of these souls on those racks and in cages, they could see the demons and they grabbed the second best torturer in Hell, a human who managed to turn human souls into demons faster than Alistair himself – and they saved him and they left everyone else to suffer.” 

Dean started. Human souls, plural? “How many did I –“

“I have no idea, Dean. I didn’t count but there were a lot of us. We were special, you know. We thought of ourselves as a family. Dean’s Demons, we called ourselves. We stuck together. We were stronger than the others because we came through so fast, and so hard and we embraced it so fully. It’s true. This was our destiny. I think there are probably – oh, a good hundred of us still around, what with the Apocalypse and the Red Election and everything but oh, Dean, you should be so proud of us!” 

“Proud. Of making demons.” 

She snorted. “Oh, please. If you hadn’t been pulled out by those radioactive chickens you’d be just as smoked out as the rest of us. You’re on your way anyway. Anyone with eyes can see it – it’s the Mark. It turned Cain into a demon and it’s turning you.” She grabbed his hands and brought them up to her chest. “Dean, don’t you see? You’re coming home!” 

“Um…” He tried to extricate his hands gently. Alicia wasn’t having any part of that. Apparently she didn’t do subtle. 

“It’s going to be great, Dean. You’ll be a Knight of Hell, just like Abaddon. You’ll be even better than you would have been before. You’ll be unkillable. There will be nothing that can stop you, nothing that can hurt you.” She clapped her hands like a schoolgirl. “Can’t you see? This is going to be the absolute best thing ever. It will be Hell on Earth!”

“Listen, Alicia, that’s not – I mean, that’s not exactly what I signed up for.”

“Oh, come on, Dean. Don’t try to tell me that this isn’t what you want.” She was right up in his space again, lips against his face and every inch of her body plastered against his. “You know that you love that feeling – the rush that the kill gives you.” She took his mouth with hers again. 

He didn’t even try to resist, just let his hands go to her hips. He knew this was wrong. He just couldn’t fight it. What would be the point? He was going to fall anyway, turning into a monster that would make Abaddon look like a kitten. Might as well make the trip enjoyable, right? 

A slightly muffled voice began to ring out from somewhere near Sam. “ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundis in spiritus, omnis in satanica potestas_ –“ 

Alicia jerked back, screaming. “Where is that coming from?” she shrieked. “You promised you wouldn’t try anything!” 

“Honey, in case you couldn’t tell there isn’t enough blood rushing to my brain to perform an exorcism,” he pointed out. The stream of Latin continued to pour forth. “And Sam’s in no position to even scratch his nose or scream, never mind exorcise a demon. I honestly have no idea where this is coming from, sweetie.”

She charged at Sam and gestured again. He was obviously hurting, but it didn’t last. The final “ _audi nos_ ” rang out through the kitchen, Alicia’s head snapped back and black smoke came pouring out of her mouth. The body collapsed to the floor, Sam close behind. The giant pulled himself together quickly, though. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and pushed a button, stopping the loop, and checked on the victim. “She’s alive,” he sighed gratefully. “I’ll run and get the car.” 

Dean scowled at him. “What about the revenants?”

“Screw the revenants, Dean. Alicia will be sending the cavalry back as soon as she gets back to Hell and I’d rather that none of us were here when they come calling. It’s only a couple of blocks.” He disappeared, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts and the comatose woman. 

He’d actually created demons. Him. He knew he’d tortured. He remembered how much he’d come to like it – the feeling of power, after being a passive victim for thirty years. He knew that he’d broken the first seal on Lucifer’s Cage, too, although he hadn’t known that at the time. He didn’t like to think too much about that one, because it kind of absolved Sam of some of the responsibility for his own monstrous crimes, but in reality he knew what he’d done. He just hadn’t understood that he’d actually created the hellspawn he’d devoted his entire life to destroying. They weren’t just hellspawn, they were his hellspawn.

His hellspawn. Because he’d made them. He’d taken human souls and turned them into monsters, into things that were incapable of love or compassion or anything positive. He’d told Sam that he was poison but he’d had no idea how right he was until tonight. 

Sam reappeared with a blanket from the trunk. He wrapped it around the victim and carried her out to the car, no doubt securing her to the back seat before he returned. He slid one arm under Dean’s shoulders and helped him to limp out to the Impala, guiding him into the passenger seat. 

They drove not to the nearest hospital – too obvious – but to a hospital in a nearby town about an hour away. “You want to get your knee looked at too?” Sam offered, the first words of the drive.

“Nah.” 

Sam shrugged and got the victim out of the backseat. He disappeared for about ten minutes. “I think she’s in good hands,” he informed. “No one flinched or anything when I said ‘Christo,’ so she’s probably as safe as she’s going to be.” 

Dean stared out the window as Sam put the car in gear and headed out. He kept staring until they got back to the Bunker, a good seven or eight hours. Sam helped him gingerly back to his bedroom. “I’m pretty sure there’s a pair of crutches in the infirmary,” he offered.

“So you just have an exorcism queued up on your phone?” the elder brother queried. 

“Um, yeah. I mean, it worked in Colorado, remember? We played it over the PA system in that police station.” 

“Everyone still died in the end. Lilith still got them.”

Sam’s jaw clenched and he looked away. “The principle still stands, Dean. It helped out in Milton, too.” He shrugged. “No one’s asking you to do it.”

“Actually… it might not be a bad idea. But you were paralyzed, man.” 

“Yeah.”

“How did you get the thing to play? She was just so distracted by my awesome?” He tried to force a cocky grin. It didn’t work. 

“I’m telekinetic, Dean.” 

“Your – are you drinking demon blood again, Sam?” He felt his gorge rise. “You and your freaky mind-crap –“ 

“If I was drinking demon blood again, Dean, I wouldn’t have needed a pre-recorded exorcism to get rid of Alicia. And you know it. I never needed the blood to work the telekinesis. I just never practiced with it because of how much it bothered you.” He stood up.

“So what changed? You know using those powers is playing with fire.”

“It really isn’t, Dean. For all you know I was born with that one and that’s what made Azazel choose me. But what changed is that you crammed an angel in me with lies and then lied about it for twenty weeks.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Seriously? I thought we were through this.”

“Apparently not, if you still think I’m going to trust you. Sit tight, I’m going to go find you some crutches and an ice pack.” 

“Why? You obviously hate me now.”

If Sam could have rolled his eyes back any further he’d have been looking at his own brain. “Dean, I don’t think I could ever actually hate you. I’m furious with you. I don’t trust you. But I don’t hate you.” 

He slammed a fist into his pillow. “Didn’t you hear what Alicia said? I created demons, Sam! I made her! I made at least a hundred more!”

He shrugged. “It was Hell, Dean.”

The elder Winchester gaped. “That’s seriously all you have to say? ‘It was Hell?’ Like that makes anything okay?”

“I don’t know that it makes anything okay, but it’s not like I didn’t know what you did down there. I mean you told me what you did, about getting off that rack. It’s not a huge intuitive leap. It wasn’t a good thing to do, but I don’t see where you had any good options. I don’t blame you for what you did in Hell, Dean.”

“But… I created demons, Sam.”

“Yeah. You did. You couldn’t have done it any differently. You couldn’t have held out any longer. The angels weren’t going to rescue you until you broke, Dean, and they weren’t going to start fighting until you broke. They weren’t going to risk derailing their Apocalypse. The only thing in that whole scenario that you could have done differently was to not go to Hell in the first place.” He shrugged. “And at the time it’s not like you knew how things were going to shake out. You’d have done things differently if you knew. That’s all any reasonable person can ask for.” He hesitated before grabbing Dean’s shoulder for a brief second and then leaving the room in pursuit of the crutches and ice.

He returned about twenty minutes later armed with both. “What?” he asked as he helped Dean get his leg elevated and piled the ice pack on.

“I just don’t see how you can be so blasé about the whole thing. I mean, demons have screwed up our entire lives. Demons killed Mom. Demons killed Jessica.” He knocked his head into the headboard. “And you’re just like, ‘Meh. No biggie.’” 

“That’s not it at all, Dean.” He sighed. “You screwed up. Believe me, I know from screwing up. When you made the decision to go to Hell, the rest was going to happen no matter what. That’s all. It didn’t matter how good or how righteous or whatever you were when you went in, it was always going to happen. It’s Hell. No one is supposed to come out of there human, you know? The fact that you did, even with angelic assistance, is pretty freaking amazing. But I mean, yeah. You screwed up. It happens. All you can do is to move on from it.” He shrugged. “We can’t change the past. All we can do is try to learn from it, you know?” He got up. “Try to get some sleep, Dean. Want me to leave your door open?” It was probably about as close to brotherly as they’d been in months, if not years.

“Do you mind?” 

Sam nodded and sought out his own bed.


End file.
